Senses
by fowl68
Summary: Sometimes, it's easy to forget that Howl had been bonded with a fire demon for the better part of his life.


**Disclaimer:** Don't own!

**Author's Note:** On summer break and just got back from the Bahamas. It's so good to be home.

The movie was on this morning and my niece watched it for the first time. I'm planning on buying the book soon, so I can't wait for that.

_Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. "Pooh!" he whispered. "Yes, Piglet?" "Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's paw. "I just wanted to be sure of you." ~A.A. Milne_

**Sight**

He's a child still. Sophie knows this, but has difficulty believing that when she looks at him. She never thought to describe a man as beautiful, but with Howl, it's undeniable. There was some line of the jaw, some bone of the face that stopped him from looking like a woman, but the overall effect was of a pretty young man.

He still smiles like a child. His smiles light up his face and it's all childish delight at some small thing she'd done or that he sees. He grins like a young man, all lazy arrogance and charm. His hands are an artisan's hands—slender, long-fingered and constantly stained with the ink that he writes his notes and spells in.

His eyes are naturally green, but they like to change color. They went a very pale, hard green when his natural secretiveness came back into play and he didn't wish to share anything with her. They went dark when he was angry and they were tinged with blue when he flirted. Not that he needed to flirt with her, really, but he liked to see her blush.

And when he uses magic, they're bright violet flames and when he turns to look at her after he finishes a spell, smiling like he does, his eyes always make her catch her breath because they'll be green with a thin layer of violet over them.

His clothes hint at richness. The black, well-worn boots that he shines periodically. The glints of color at his ears and throat. The loose white shirt that's stitched with gold. Except for that coat. That bright pink and blue patterned coat that's threadbare and soft from overuse. There are even some singes on the sleeves, most likely from Calcifer. Howl says that, at the time that he bought the coat, he'd been very poor and it had been a cold winter. The coat had been all he could afford at the time, but he'd grown fond of it.

The coat was a powerful contrast to his other clothes, but it was another piece of the patchwork that was Howl.

**Sound**

Sophie has come to know the little sounds that Howl makes. The soft, nearly not-there, padding of his footsteps. The murmur of his voice when he speaks; Howl doesn't like to talk very loud and Sophie sometimes wonders if he was a shy child because he doesn't like to meet people's eyes much either.

He has no accent, nothing to hint at where he started life, except for when he speaks his spells. Then there is a slur in the harsh words, a roll to his letters.

Sometimes, Howl goes so still, so quiet, that Sophie sometimes forgets that he's there until Calcifer will mutter something and Howl's silvery laugh rings through the room.

It doesn't happen often, but he doesn't yell when he's angry, not really angry. When the fury and the rage of the war and the government hit him, Howl doesn't shout. Doesn't make any noticeable changes. But Sulliman came to call once and Howl had smiled chillingly.

That smile had made Sophie afraid and she can't remember a time when she was afraid of Howl.

She can't remember what he said next, but she remembers his voice. A soft croon. Too soft, too gentle and it was then that Sophie remembered that Howl and Calcifer had been two beings with similar essences, and that Calcifer, as much as she loved the sarcastic flame, was a demon.

Sophie hasn't ever thought of Howl as a demon and she still doesn't. Except for those times when those pretty eyes of his go odd and his voice gets too soft for the situation.

**Taste**

When he makes breakfast, sometimes in a rush because he woke up late and he has to make it cook even faster with the help of magic, the food will zap their tongues and make their mouths tingle.

Howl's mouth tastes like plums. Sophie can't come up with a reason for it because plums are difficult to find, even with the aid of a wizard and his moving castle. But he does. The only exception is when she kisses him the first time. That time he tasted of ashes and copper.

**Touch**

Howl is a man of contradictions, Sophie thinks. He's all elegance and charm on the outside, his clothes smooth, soft material. But his hands are actually calloused and rough, evidence of hard work. He's all lean muscle sheathed in pale skin, muscles developed from flying through war-ridden winds.

Every time he holds his hand out to her and she takes it, his hand is always warm. Sophie always has to wonder whether he's naturally warm or because his magic runs through his body or if it's because of being bonded to Calcifer.

Sophie's got scratches and bruises from the castle falling apart and when they're all resting back in the ruins of the castle, Howl tells her to pull up her sleeves.

"You're lucky you're not hurt worse." He growls at her. Despite his annoyance (or anger. His moods are hard to read sometimes) his hands are gentle as they trace her scratches. His fingertips glow pale green and her scratches and bruises fade as he touches them. _(His magic feels like lightning on the skin. It's wild and seems to shoot through the blood)_

She likes to run his fingers through his hair, regardless of what color it is. His hair is feather-soft and she tries not to think about why that is.

**Smell**

Sophie knows that people have a variety of scents around them at any time of day. But Howl…he only ever smells of woodsmoke and embers, even after hours of being buried in his books or working with the herbs that he uses for his potions. Like his magic absorbs everything around him, leaving only Howl-and-Calcifer.

Sophie can remember one time that she was leaning on the rail beside Howl. He liked to use his magic in little ways that were but parlor tricks really. Howl liked to summon little balls of witchlight and make them bob and whirl through the starry skies. This was one of the times that he made his witchlight and had one play a fast jig, making the rest dance in time to it.

This isn't the closest Sophie has been to him when he performs his magic, but it is the first time that she notices that his scent changes when he does. His magic smells a bit like lightning and thunder—sharp and strong. It's something unlike anything she's ever smelled.

They hadn't had a chance to do laundry for a long while and she'd had to use one of Howl's shirts for a pillowcase. Every time she inhaled, all she could smell was fire and sparks and _Howl, Howl, Howl-and-Calcifer._


End file.
